Category Archives: Dating

The Z Stands Alone: In other words, Raki is Single

The cheese stands alone

I stand Alone With You Cheese

“Hi-Ho the derry’o the Z stands alone.” (fyi, my last name starts with a Z)

I’m single. Hard to believe especially when according to my uncle I have ALL the qualities one would look for in a GF or wife namely that I can sew and I know how to bake really great zucchini muffins. So why am I unattached? I’ve pondered this a few times and I have some possible answers.

1. I was born this way.

2. God needs me single right now.

3. I don’t feel like shaving, flirting, doing my hair, or talking on the phone.

Okay number 2 may be closer to the truth than number 3 but number one hits very close to home. I’m not a relationship person, and I usually suck at being a girlfriend. I can’t tell you how my times my past boyfriends would bemoan me not “checking up” on them. Guys need to be “checked up” on apparently, and here I thought dudes didn’t like clingy girls. I understand this though. Everybody wants to know someone is thinking about them, and checking in on your significant other is a part of that. My level of nonchalance hath driven many a suitor up the wall. I can’t even blame it on having been a mom since I was 18 because even in high school I sort of had the same disposition of not really caring about being in a relationship.

Let’s go deeper. I didn’t have really good examples of great relationships when I was growing up. I come from a single parent home. My mom was/is super self sufficient and my dad was/is in another country. To me, my dad was a heavily accented crackling voice on the other end of a really bad telephone connection. This might have something to do with my ideal relationship being one where my husband, or I travel A LOT, separately, and some how journal our marriage in a leather bound diary only to come together spontaneously throughout the year at exotic spots around the globe.

“Darling, I’ve missed you. How goes your excavation in Luxor?”

“Raki, dear it’s been amazing! We’ve uncovered an entire city dating back to the 12th dynasty.”

“Darling, that’s astounding. Come here and join me on the veranda. Paris is so beautiful at night.”

“I know, you’ve always loved Paris especially after it rains. How was your show last night dear? I hope the press wasn’t much of a headache”

“It was beautiful. I will have to show you pictures of the collection. But, Let’s not talk about work now. We both have early flights to catch in the morning. I saved this bottle of cabernet sauvignon for us, tonight.”

Pardon my daydreaming. But that’s what I’d really like. I don’t really want to see my significant other all the time.

This past year and a half I’ve had the opportunity to really observe relationships more in depth. I have been self employed for a very long time, so my recent foray into the workplace has afforded me the opportunity to spectate the relationships of others. Within my office as well as within my circle of friends there’s this virus of matrimony going around. I mean EVERYBODY is getting married. Apparently my MMR shot stood for “Matri-Mony Repellant” because I have not come close to being infected. (that’s not exactly true, a lot of guys have wanted to marry me, but that’s another story) The thing is, I’m excited for my co-workers and friends. I believe in their love, but I don’t envy their relationships. What’s wrong with me y’all? I’m so happy about other people getting married, it’s weird. But I really really have no inclination at all to try to shore up that same set up for myself.

I feel bad, not for me, but for my mom. She wants a wedding. I know she does and I really wish I could give her one. Like, I really would love for my mom to be able to plan my wedding because it’s a dream of hers. I’ve never EVER voluntarily dreamed about planning a wedding, except when I had to for a class project.

“So what’s wrong with you?” I had this guy ask me that, well I’ve had a few people ask me that, but this time in particular was after having a really great conversation with a stranger who happened to be extremely handsome. I was at the library, trying to study while using my arm as a pillow and book as a night shade when this guy walked up to me and called me out on the futility of my posture and purpose. We ended up have a really great conversation that ended with him asking me…”So what’s wrong with you?” “You seem cool, but what’s wrong with you?” He was perplexed as to why I was single. I started stuttering because I really didn’t have a concrete answer.

Remember reason number 2 that I gave as to why I’m single…’Maybe God needs me single right now’.

1 CORINTHIANS 7:34 34 There is[a] a difference between a wife and a virgin. The unmarried woman cares about the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit. But she who is married cares about the things of the world—how she may please her husband.

(in other words: “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” lol just joking)

I have a lot to do, I have a lot on my plate, and I have a lot of healing that needs to take place on the inside. This verse is not a cop out, it speaks to me. I feel like, in this season of my life God is calling me to be more focused on his purpose over my life. To do that I need to minimize my distractions. I think marriage is a beautiful thing between a man and a woman, but I also know that being single serves it’s purpose as well. There are a lot of cracks in my foundation that can’t be healed by a Superman swooping in to save the day. I don’t condone broken people jumping into relationships. I’m a broken person, I need melding, not super glue.

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Single on Sunday

Grooveshark has got me caught in a Mary J. Blige vortex and I’m reminiscing about past hurtful relationships that I never actually had.

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apparently my heated blanket is made out of boyfriend material

-raki

apparently my h…

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It’s a Seance, Meet My Son

So I met a guy.  I try to prolong the appearance of being single and carefree for as long as my schedule will allow, which is usually every other weekend and anytime before 4:15pm (when the school bus comes).  So I met this guy and the only way we could work our schedules around hanging out the 2nd day after I met him was for him to come over that evening around 9pm.  I’m not June Cleaver and this is certainly not the Cosby Show, so unless Nyquill comes in to the picture, Dave is NOWHERE NEAR going to bed at 9pm. Matter of fact at 9 o’clock he’s more than likely running around asking what’s for 2nd Dinner!  I don’t usually bring guys home too early to meet the kid but this time I was like “What the heck, might as well get this over with.”  So I’m running around the house doing some straightening up and getting myself together. I was trying to figure out how to be cute, considering that I can’t get all the way “dressed” because its 9pm and I’ve been in the house all day so being too done up would look like I was trying way too hard.  By now my son has gotten wind that we’re having company. Notice the “WE”.  In his mind, company comes for “US” not just me.  I notice he’s doing his own sprucing up, putting on lotion and such, straightening up his toys etc.  I’m just about ready to go down stairs to get the guy from the lobby, when I see Dave putting on my sneakers. “Um, where you going?” I say, he’s like “Downstairs, with you.” Tuh, “Oh no you NOT!”  Look, the walk from my apt to the lobby is roughly a block, about a 3 minute walk down the hallway from elevator to door.  I can control that walk, it’s the last few minutes for me to make a great impression, be cute, even coy and extremely believable as a carefree artist chic. Those precious minutes are the last time for me to GET.IT.IN.  And that is precisely what I did.  I walked super slow knowing that this could all go out the window as soon as we get back to my apt. As we walked down the hall we laughed, I told my best jokes, batted my eyelashes knowing that each step brought us closer to the unknown. Inside I was praying with all that was in me that David would be cool. The thing is, with him you just never know. So we finally made it back up to my apt. I’m standing at the door and take one last deep breath, twist the knob and open the door into the portal that used to be apt #205. PORTAL. YES. PORTAL. Maybe Gateway would be a better word. My entire apt is dark except for One candle on the island illuminating the solemn brown face of my son who’s perched cross legged on a bar stool in meditative silence.  WHY? Why me Lord? I’ve never moved so quick in my life, all in one stride I’d flicked on the kitchen lights, blown out the candle and yanked his legs out of Indian style.

Thankfully the guy took it all in stride even laughing about it a little bit. Luckily Dave was just normal-kid-weird for the rest of the night. So much for first impressions.

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